‘No.’
He dismissed her, picked up the phone and turned his back.
She quietly closed the door on her way out, and she held it together.
Evelyn was still in tears for her own reasons, so with just a little guidance from her senior, Emma put the plans for Rico D’Amato in place, and for Luca D’Amato too. She struggled through the wretched day and then headed not to home but to visit her father.
‘I loved her, Emma.’ He was holding a photo of her mother and weeping when she arrived. ‘I loved her.’
‘I know, Dad.’
‘I always knew she’d leave me. I knew that one day she’d go….’
Instead of taking the photo away, instead of filling up his little dish with chocolate, or replacing his laundry, Emma sat in the stiff leather chair by his bed—weary with new understanding.
Love hurt.
Love sucked.
Love made you do the unfathomable.
‘I should have supported her with her art,’ Frank wept, as Emma held his hand and closed her eyes. ‘I should have been there for her. I should have been a better father for you…’
Round and round he went, trapped in a circle of dementia and bitter, bitter regret.
It was exhausting to listen to.
And exhausting to leave.
Bone weary, she stepped out of the nursing home and into the dark night, almost knowing Luca would be waiting for her, almost sensing what was to come.
‘I went to your home.’
‘I was visiting Dad.’
‘We are finished, Emma.’ He made himself say it, because she deserved better than lies, better than false promises.
Better than him.
‘There can be no relationship.’
‘I know that now.’ And she did, finally she did, because he couldn’t make it any clearer. His face was stripped of colour, just the blue of his eyes and the blackness of his words resonated in her heart. But love made you daft, love made you care, love made you weak at times, but true love, real love, actually made you incredibly strong.
‘Your offer to come to the funeral, I would like to accept it now. It would mean a lot to my mother and also to me,’ he admitted. One slight weakness and she blinked in confusion, because sometimes he sounded like a man who adored her.
‘I said I’ll come, but there can be no…’ She couldn’t finish but she knew he understood her. Unlike before, this time she meant it, because although she loved him, and wanted him, being intimate with a man who had confessed he didn’t want her meant there was one rule that had to be voiced.
‘I understand that,’ Luca said, and he did. Always sex had been like balm, a release, a distraction, a pleasure—yet with Emma it had been something else, had taken him to places that had shown him all he was missing, all he must forever miss. Emma had been right too. His mother had naturally assumed Emma would join him, and at first he had reeled from even the thought. But to have her beside him… He knew he shouldn’t but, selfishly, his need overrode logic.
‘I am leaving in the afternoon now—Evelyn will come to your home in the morning to assist you.’
And in Luca’s world no explanation was necessary—he could just give his orders and they would be followed. But as Evelyn arrived the next morning with an array of dour suits, as she helped her junior pack and pay last-minute bills and cancel plans and ring
the nursing home, the mood was sombre. Black was Emma’s safe staple—a suit, a jumper, a sexy little dress—but always it was lightened with colour. Pulling on black stockings, a thin black cashmere jumper and then the black suit, Emma felt sick. She had never been to a funeral before—well, just one, but she had been too young to remember her mother’s.
They sat in silence in Emma’s lounge, waiting for the toot of Luca’s driver. Evelyn saw her junior’s pinched face and restless foot that tapped a silent tune as she braced herself for whatever lay ahead.
‘I know something happened in Italy,’ the older woman said gently.